Imitation Monarch
by Teribane
Summary: "Impostor!" "Fake!" "You'll never be as good as Pharaoh Atemu!" -Oneshot-


**Imitation Monarch**

**Yu-Gi-Oh fanfic by Teribane**

**Rating - T**

**Summary - **"Impostor!" "Fake!" "You'll never be as good as Pharaoh Atemu!" -Oneshot-

**AN - **Erk. I disturbed myself a bit with this one, which is weird, since I've written much more disturbing things. Ah well.

Writing's sort of disjointed, lots of repetition, but that _is _on purpose for once.

Enjoy! ^^;

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Seth gently ran a finger along one edge of the Millennium Puzzle, tracing the square shape all the way around the top. The gold glinted cheerily, almost as if in response to his attention, and the former priest smiled. A bitter smile.

He squeezed the Millennium Rod in his other hand, as if trying to strangle it. Or perhaps, to cling to it, to keep from falling off the edge of wherever he was teetering.

He was surrounded by familiar things. The Pharaoh's throne room, the throne itself, the Puzzle... yet he couldn't help but feel uneasy, almost homesick.

The Puzzle wasn't supposed to be around _his _neck. It was supposed to be around the Pharaoh's neck, only he was the Pharaoh now and he didn't want to be the Pharaoh, why had he been left here with all this gold and glory surrounding him and none of it was enough, not when -

Sometimes Seth wanted to rip the Puzzle from around his neck and throw it against the wall, out the window, far away. Loathsome, traitorous thing, reminding him of so many things he'd prefer to forget. Only he couldn't, it was the symbol of the Pharaoh that he now was and he had to stay in control, at least until he could find a successor, because he'd promised the Pharaoh, even if whether it was himself or Atemu he wasn't sure anymore. Besides, Atemu himself had given it to him.

Atemu. Atemu, who was now dead and gone.

And then there was the Rod. It made him sick to his stomach to just look at the glint of its gold these days. Unlike the Puzzle, looking at it didn't remind him of Atemu, just of betrayal. His almost-betrayal, and his father Akhnadin, his _father, _and the High Priest of Darkness, a swish of dark red hair and a glowing golden eye, swirling purple-black robes, and yesterday he'd been gasping over an urn in his rooms, not able to stop the bile from rising, vomiting, hoping nobody would come in and see him in such a pitiful state. But he still couldn't let go of it. It was the only really familiar thing he had left.

He kept tracing the Puzzle, compulsively, somehow unable to stop no matter how much he tried. His nausea was rising again.

Akhnadin would have been thrilled, proud, to see Seth _his son_ Pharaoh. Just a week ago, Seth would've been just as happy, ecstatic to learn he'd be Pharaoh after Atemu.

Pharaoh Pharaoh Pharaoh

Sometimes, Seth wondered how much longer it would be until he finally snapped.

\\\

Seth missed Kisara.

Despite what everyone around had thought, he hadn't _loved _Kisara, not in the way parents usually loved, in the way he'd seen so many of Atemu's - no, _his _now - subjects loving. Perhaps, eventually, he would have, perhaps not. Now he'd never know.

But he missed having someone look at him with such trust. He didn't deserve it mayhaps - he didn't think he did, certainly his subjects wouldn't be looking at him with such dislike, even hate, if he did. Would they?

He kept pushing himself further, working harder for them. He vaguely remembered Mana scolding him for not taking care of himself, but surely he wasn't working hard enough if they still hated him?

Mana was gone too. She'd left a few days ago, to visit Mahaad's resting place. The stone tablet with the Illusion Magician embedded in it, the Magician with the magician's face.

She should have been back yesterday. But Seth had heard tales of bandits in the desert. Mana'd promised to hurry back right away, but she maybe, maybe, might have heard about them too, and decided to wait until it was safer to head back.

It would be a little strange if she'd heard of them, since he'd only heard two nights after she'd left. But that's what had happened, right? That was the only thing that could have delayed her.

Seth still did miss Kisara. Sometimes, he went to visit the tablet of the White Dragon, since he couldn't summon the Dragon herself. Not with the Shadow Games locked away.

And he couldn't bring himself to visit her grave. It was just her body in there now, nothing important. Not like the _ka _which was the beautiful, glittering dragon. The _ka _that he could only remember now.

The stone stared mockingly down at him.

\\\

Seth had taken to wearing a copy of Atemu's clothes. Not an exact copy, that would've been too small, too worn from that final battle, but still a copy.

He'd had some sort of idea that if his subjects hated him for not being Atemu, maybe they would like to pretend that he was. Maybe that would help, maybe they'd be happier.

Only, he couldn't wear the earrings. The rest of the clothes had been worn by other Pharaohs, even if the only one he remembered doing so was Atemu - not old enough to remember anyone else. But the earrings had been Atemu's own touch, specific, and it would have felt sacrilegious to have something similar.

Mana would've told him to stop being silly, he knew, though he didn't know about which part of this she would've said it _about. _But he hadn't seen Mana for many rotations of the moon, since before the last flooding of the Nile. Could she have gotten lost on the way back from Mahaad's final resting place? That would be weird, as she'd grown up here - she knew her way well. Maybe she'd gotten blown off course by a sandstorm.

What had he been thinking about?

...oh.

Maybe that was why his subjects seemed to still be angry? Because he didn't have the earrings?

"Impostor!"

"Fake!"

"You'll never be as good as Pharaoh Atemu!"

But he knew that he _knew that _

"I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't kill Pharaoh Atemu himself, just to become Pharaoh himself!"

"Look at how he's wearing Pharaoh Atemu's clothes! So presumptuous!"

"Imitation!"

He flinched at every phrase, every word. He flinched where he wouldn't have even cringed, back when he'd been priest.

He'd never felt so vulnerable before in his life.

\\\

Seth lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling of the room. Black, blacker, blackest - no stars, nothing bright. He wondered why. Shouldn't the top be open to let in the light? Maybe he should rip it open tomorrow, only he did remember trying to do that before, digging, scratching until his hands were bloody from scraping, and then someone had come in, and then there had been shouting. He'd tried to explain, but nobody had seemed to understand that it was _important _to open it, for some reason.

He didn't like the shouting, even if it didn't seem to be directed at _him. _Not then, at the least.

The dark drowned him. He felt smothered.

Seth was long past wondering whether he was insane. He just didn't think about it anymore.

_"And who better to lead this nation than you, Seth?"_

Who better who better who better than Seth than Atemu than Seth than the Pharaoh

Seth had never been much for crying. He still wasn't. But sometimes, these days, water seemed to leak from his eyes, leaving a trail of wet on his cheeks, and he lifted a hand to it and wondered what was going on.

He didn't actually sleep often these days. He worked the whole day, getting up before Ra even came up across the sky, and going to bed long after Ra had entered the underworld. And even then, he often tossed and turned, or at least lay there silently, not able to close his eyes. He just couldn't. Strange storms tore across his closed eyelids, nightmare images and the images of actual nightmares mixed. Never any good dreams, not anymore. Barely ever any dreamless nights.

His hand clutched the gold hanging from his neck. It was something precious, only he barely ever remembered why these days. He didn't remember a lot of anything. Just that it was important to keep it safe. Something he'd promised...

Despite the dark, despite the cold of a small breeze blowing across the wet trails on his face, Seth had a small smile on his face. A childish smile.

Maybe Mana would come back tomorrow. That would be nice.


End file.
